


Keep Moving Forward

by Izzyaro (Isilarma)



Series: International Cooperation [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5543639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilarma/pseuds/Izzyaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon is a superb actor, one of the best in fact, but he isn't perfect. Some things simply cannot be hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Moving Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Napoleon sipped at his brandy and stared out over the city. He had never been to Istanbul before, and under any other circumstances he would have been jumping at the opportunity. At the very least he would have slipped off to do some discreet exploring. For once, though, the lure of secrets and riches was no more than mildly tempting. Maybe it was because Waverly had assured him that his salary was going to be rather more suitable from now on, or because he didn't want to jeopardise his first official mission with a new team on the very first night.

Or maybe it was because his entire body still ached from when a mad Nazi scientist had tied him up and electrocuted him.

Granted, crashing into and rolling a couple of land rovers probably hadn't helped, but Napoleon felt reasonably confident in laying most of the blame on dear old Uncle Rudi. His muscles complained every time he moved even a little bit too fast and his coordination had been off, not much, but enough that Napoleon wished they'd had more time to recuperate. Not that he was ever going to admit that to anybody. Still, he couldn't help wishing Rudi had survived, just so he could blame someone who deserved it.

But in Rudi's absence Gaby was the next best thing.

Intellectually, Napoleon knew he was being unfair. She had been doing her job, and in her position he would have done the exact same thing. He was even objective enough to admit that it probably would have happened anyway; Kuryakin had been compromised after all, and Napoleon had broken protocol multiple times in making contact. It wouldn't have taken long for the Vinciguerras to put the pieces together. Napoleon didn't like it, but he had to admit that his pride deserved the hit.

That didn't mean it was easy to ignore the fact that Victoria and Rudi had tortured him because Gaby left him in it. It didn't change the fact that he would have suffered a slow and hideously painful death had Illya not shown up when he did.

It didn't make the nightmares any easier to ignore.

Napoleon scowled and downed the rest of his brandy. He was being pathetic. Rudi had him for thirty minutes, an hour at the very most. Some spy he was if he couldn't even handle that. Shivers completely unrelated to the balmy evening ran through him, and Napoleon tugged his robe closer around him. This was stupid. He was a spy, and it was hardly the first time had gotten himself into trouble.

He'd just never been the hands of a war criminal before. He needed more brandy.

Napoleon headed back into his room, careful to slide the door to the balcony shut behind him. No need to invite an attack. He poured himself another drink, and settled down with a book. Now was as good a time as any to start teaching himself Farsi.

Everything else could wait.

\---

Gaby leaned on the balcony and sighed. It was a gorgeous evening; the sun was setting and the sky was alight with red, orange and purple. She could hear the bustle of the markets below, and smell spices on the light breeze, and the breeze was just cool enough to be refreshing after the warmth of the afternoon. East Berlin felt a very long way away, and not for the first time Gaby had to stop and think about just how lucky she was. She had a job she loved, an understanding boss, and two teammates she felt she could learn to trust. Things were going well.

At least, most things were.

Gaby sighed again. They had gathered to go over the mission parameters one more time before the extraction the following morning. All of them knew their roles, and Gaby was confident that it would be a success. She was recovered from the disastrous Vinciguerra affair, and Illya was as calm as she had ever seen him.

Unfortunately, Napoleon was not. Outwardly he was as professional as ever, but Gaby had caught a frown on his face when he thought no one was looking, and he seemed to be moving more carefully than ever. All enquiries had met with expert deflections and assurances that he could do his job, but it was clear something was wrong and Gaby simply didn't know what. He had disappeared as soon as the briefing finished, leaving the rest of the team exchanging wary looks.

Gaby shook her head. Any other time and they might have been able to let Napoleon work out whatever was bothering him in his own time, but not the night before a mission. She sighed and turned to face Illya.

"Any ideas?"

Illya frowned. "Presumably the same thing that's been bothering him since Rome."

Gaby pulled a face. It was true that Napoleon hadn't quite seemed himself ever since they left, but he was so tight-lipped that she had no idea how to get to the bottom of it. "I swear he's been avoiding me."

Waverly raised an eyebrow as he sipped thoughtfully at his water. "Has he given any indication as to why?"

Gaby started to shake her head, but something in Illya's expression stopped her. Something cold coiled in the pit of her stomach. The last time Illya had looked like that was when they spoke about... "Uncle Rudi?"

Illya sighed, his eyes openly apologetic. "I think it is most likely."

Waverly frowned at her. "I thought you'd spoken to Mr. Solo about your actions in Rome."

"I did," Gaby insisted. She'd done so before she'd even learned about the torture, and again afterwards, but she hadn't tried to make excuses. They were spies, and they all knew how the game was played. "He said he understood, like Illya."

The Russian shrugged. "I wasn't the one your uncle was playing with."

Gaby flinched at the reminder. Rudi had been a Nazi and a murderer, but she couldn't help but remember the uncle who had sat her on his knee and given her sweets and generally spoiled her rotten. She hated him and everything that he stood for, but there was still a tiny piece of her that couldn't quite believe it.

Illya caught the flinch, and his severe expression softened somewhat. "Maybe if you spoke to him again?"

Gaby raised an eyebrow. "You think that would help?" Napoleon might talk a lot, but never about himself. This was exactly the sort of conversation he would avoid at any and all costs. Illya's lips thinned, but his silence confirmed her judgement. Gaby ran a hand through her hair, and turned to Waverly. "What do you think, sir?"

For a long minute, Waverly didn't reply. He was staring out over the city, and he was so still that Gaby wondered if he had even heard her, but just as she was opening her mouth he seemed to shake himself. "What? Oh, no, you talking to him wouldn't do any good."

Gaby frowned. "Why not?"

Waverly glanced round and gave her a slight smile. "That's not a reflection on your abilities, my dear, but on Mr. Solo's stubbornness," he said. "Especially since he's still smarting for not realising who you are. Isn't that right, Mr. Kuryakin?" Illya folded his arms, but Waverly remained unperturbed by the glare he received and continued to address Gaby, "No, you concentrate on the mission. Leave Mr. Solo to me."

Gaby blinked at him. "Sir?"

Waverly smiled and set his empty glass down on the table. "Just trust me, Miss Teller, Mr. Kuryakin." He nodded to the two of them, and left the room without another word. Gaby stared after him, then at Illya.

"What do you think he's going to do?"

Illya shook his head slowly. "I do not know. But I hope he knows what he's doing."

\---

Napoleon didn't even try to sleep. He was in no mood to relieve the fun he'd had with Rudi, especially after a day of having both Gaby and Kuryakin eyeing him like he was going to snap. He knew it was stupid to be annoyed, the were trained spies after all and they were supposed to notice when something was wrong, but it was still frustrating to know that they could read him at all. Napoleon had spent years building his masks; no one was supposed to see through them in less than a week.

So although he was exhausted, midnight once again found Napoleon settled on the sofa with the Farsi language book in his hands and a glass of brandy on the table next to him. Progress was slow to say the least, but it was better than lying in bed staring at the ceiling. No doubt Illya and Gaby would notice his appearance in the morning, but Napoleon couldn't bring himself to care. There was nothing they could do to make him talk, and Napoleon could deal with them being annoyed at him. So he kept reading, and the clock ticked steadily on.

Until there was a knock at the door.

Napoleon froze. For a moment he thought he was hearing things. The knock had been so quiet that as light a sleeper as Napoleon was he never would've heard anything had he not already been awake. He listened, but there was no sound. Napoleon stared at the door for a second, then picked up his gun and padded silently over to the door. It was probably nothing, but better safe than dead. Keeping the gun hidden down by his leg he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

And blinked as he looked into the face of Alexander Waverly.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Solo. I hope I didn't wake you."

Napoleon could only shake his head. Waverly looked as fresh as he had been earlier that evening; he was even still wearing his suit. Napoleon resisted the urge to apologise for rather less than perfect appearance, and instead pointedly set the gun on the table. "Bit late for a briefing isn't it, sir?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't think you'd be busy, and now seemed as good a time as any. Mind if I come in?"

Napoleon silently stepped aside. He head learned over the last few days that there was no arguing with Waverly when he got it into his head to do something. He shut the door, and turned to see Waverly looking round the room. His posture was completely relaxed, but Napoleon knew that nothing was getting past him and wished he'd skipped the last glass of brandy. His boss was hard enough to deal with on a good day, let alone when he was exhausted and fed up.

"What are you doing here, sir?"

Maybe not the most subtle approach, but Napoleon was in no mood for games. Waverly however, just raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't I say? I thought I should see if you were awake."

"Well, you've got your answer," Napoleon muttered.

Waverly's brow furrowed slightly. "Maybe I should clarify. I came to see if you'd managed to sleep yet?"

Napoleon felt the first pricklings of unease, but he kept his voice light. "I'm good, but even I need sleep. Don't think Peril does though; have you tried him?"

Waverly gave him a fleeting smile, but the gleam in his eyes didn't change. "I'm afraid you're the one I need to talk to, Mr. Solo."

Napoleon hesitated. He was reasonably sure Waverly would leave if he asked him to, the man took good manners to a fault, but Napoleon had seen enough to know that Waverly didn't let things go. Sooner or later the conversation would take place. At least now it would be on his turf. He sighed and gestured to the coach. "Well, I guess now's as good a time as any."

Waverly took a seat with the casual elegance only the English aristocracy possessed, his blue eyes never leaving Napoleon. Napoleon resisted the urge to get more brandy and sat down in the chair opposite him. "So, is there a problem, sir?"

Waverly quirked an eyebrow up. "You tell me, Mr. Solo."

Napoleon eyed him warily. Surely he hadn't been that obvious. "I don't understand, sir."

"Oh, I think you do," said Waverly calmly. He leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. "Rather, you know there's a problem, it's your problem, and it's with one of your teammates."

Napoleon suddenly felt very cold. How had the old man figured it out so easily? He made a furious mental note to never ever underestimate Waverly, but kept his relaxed air fixed in place. "There's no problem, sir."

At that Waverly's expression darkened. "If there is no problem then why have you been avoiding your colleagues?"

Napoleon glared at him. "Sir, if I have compromised the mission in any way-"

"You are compromising the mission, Mr. Solo, by treating your teammates like they are about to betray you."

"Can you blame me?" Napoleon snapped. Anger was rising up again, but Waverly just looked at him.

"You know better than that. Would you not have done exactly the same in Miss Teller's position?"

Napoleon scowled, but he kept silent. He couldn't deny the statement, and everyone in the team knew it. Waverly sighed, his own irritation seemingly fading. "I can understand your anger towards her, but-"

"I'm not angry with Gaby."

He hadn't realised it before, but as soon as the words left his mouth Napoleon knew them to be true. He couldn't blame Gaby, either for doing her job or being related to Rudi. The thought was nearly enough to make him smile, but the ball of rage and hatred in his stomach hadn't abated in the slightest. If anything he felt more sick than before. He wished for brandy, and clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"No, Mr. Solo," said Waverly gently. "You're angry with yourself."

Napoleon gaped at him. What was he talking about? He had nothing to blame himself for; he had done his job to the best of his ability like the good agent he was. He had no reason whatsoever to be angry at himself. But Waverly continued to speak, and somehow Napoleon couldn't quite bring himself to interrupt.

"You think you should be stronger. You think you should be handling what happened better. You think that you failed."

Napoleon's nails were digging into his palms, but he didn't move. It was like Waverly's rich tones had him under some kind of spell. Waverly himself still looked perfectly relaxed but for the intensity of his gaze. "Now, as much as I can understand the sentiment, I'm afraid I cannot allow it to continue."

Napoleon glared at him. "Excuse me?"

Waverly raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Solo, while your determination to improve yourself is commendable, you are only human. Your reactions are a natural consequence of what you have endured and quite frankly, I would be more concerned if you were completely unaffected."

Anger began to bubble in the pit of Napoleon's stomach. "Are you saying you're glad I'm going through this?" There was no point denying it any more, and in any case he was too busy keeping his voice calm to care. Something flashed in Waverly's eyes, but it was replaced by the normal affable mask even before he replied.

"I regret that you're having to go through it at all, Mr. Solo, but I am glad that you are experiencing some normal reactions. Trust me, your recovery will be much more straightforward."

Napoleon barely heard him. Blood was pounding in his ears and his muscles ached, and he could feel Rudi's eyes burning into him. Anger and bitterness bubbled up in him and for once he didn't manage to check his tongue. "All due respect, but what the hell would you know about it?" Waverly opened his mouth, but Napoleon didn't give him a chance to speak. "You weren't there, and it's your fault that I was, so what makes you think you can talk to me about it?"

There was silence for a long minute. Napoleon found himself breathing hard, anger still coursing through his body, but although he didn't regret his outburst in the slightest he still found himself uncomfortable. Maybe because he had already accepted Gaby and Waverly's reasons and knew his anger was the torture talking. Or maybe because Waverly didn't so much as twitch, but his blue eyes were suddenly very tired.

"Is that what you think, Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon gave into the urge and folded his arms. "Am I wrong?"

Waverly held his gaze for a long time, so long in fact that Napoleon actually started shifting under the scrutiny. His voice when he did speak was very quiet. "I don't suppose I could ask you to take my word for it?"

Napoleon just looked at him. He respected Waverly's skills as a intelligence operative, and he knew that Gaby trusted the man completely, but this was different. Waverly hadn't earned this. Waverly seemed to acknowledge that, for he nodded to himself and then paused. He seemed to be preparing himself. Napoleon gritted his teeth and folded his arms tighter across his chest. There was nothing the man could say that would change anything. Waverly sighed and looked him straight in the eye.

"I spent seven months in the hands of the Nazis."

Napoleon felt like he'd been slapped in the face. His jaw dropped, and it took all his considerable self-control to keep from flinching away. Waverly hadn't moved an inch, but Napoleon could read the tension suddenly screaming from every line of his body. "I never had the pleasure of meeting Rudi von Trüsch," he continued evenly, "but I spent some time with several of his colleagues."

He said nothing else, but that was all Napoleon needed. He sat back carefully, his mind racing. That certainly explained a lot. His anger disappeared as quickly as it had come, and he suddenly felt very tired. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir," he said quietly.

Waverly relaxed ever so slightly. "Yes, well, these things happen in war."

Napoleon sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. This whole evening had turned into a complete and utter disaster. Just like that fateful trip to see Victoria Vinciguerra.

"There was nothing you could have done, you know."

Napoleon looked up to find Waverly still watching him, and had to force himself not to fidget under the scrutiny. "It doesn't feel that way, sir." He was one of the best spies in the world after all. He shouldn't have needed Illya to get him out of trouble. Waverly, though, just looked at him.

"Need I remind you that you were drugged, Mr. Solo? Given time I have no doubt that you would have been able to alter the situation in your favour. On this occasion, Mr. Kuryakin simply happened to get there first."

Napoleon nodded automatically, but fresh shame had surged up at Waverly's words. His superior had spent seven months as a POW and had still managed to excel in his chosen field. Napoleon had spent an hour with a psychopath and was barely holding it together.

"Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon flinched and looked away. "Yeah. Good thing he got there so fast." Exhaustion kept his tongue moving. "Can you imagine how much of a state I'd be in otherwise?"

There was a pause, during which Napoleon realised what he had just said and felt the blood drain from his face. So much for not showing weakness, and to his commanding officer at that. Was it too late to run back to the CIA? Then he heard Waverly sigh and prepared himself for a tongue lashing or, even worse, pity.

What he got was faint exasperation. "Mr. Solo, it has been less than two days. You are supposed to be in some sort of state." Napoleon gaped round at him, but Waverly wasn't finished. "The fact that you are managing to do your job regardless shows just how well you are coping."

Napoleon couldn't quite keep himself from snorting. "You don't need to try to make me feel better, sir. I know I need to get over this."

Waverly pulled his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm not denying that, but you must accept that you cannot get over something like this easily." There was the briefest hesitation before he continued, "It took me close to three years."

Napoleon stared. Not at the length of time so much, but the fact that Waverly had shared something so personal at all. No handler Napoleon had ever had would have admitted to such a failing. Saunders would never have even considered it.

Waverly really was serious about this.

Napoleon had to look away. Waverly had shared something deeply personal, something that could easily be used against him because he thought it would help Napoleon. Napoleon couldn't deny that it had, it was hard to think of himself as weak after his superior's particular argument, but it was difficult to understand why he would bother. Napoleon wasn't worth that.

Yet, for some reason Waverly seemed to disagree. He had visited the night before a mission to force a conversation, and probably stir up some unpleasant memories of his own, because he wanted to help.

After that it was hard to want to just give in.

Napoleon took a deep breath and looked up at his superior, who was still watching him in silence.

"Does it get easier?"

Waverly sighed, and for the first time he looked very old. "In a way. The physical pain fades. The nightmares come less often, though they never change themselves. You stop seeing them everywhere you look." He shivered and looked back at Napoleon. "You never forget," he said simply. "But you do learn to live with the memories."

Napoleon nodded. He could manage that. Waverly gave him a slight smile. "You survived, Mr. Solo. Just concentrate on that, and I have no doubt that you will be fine."

There was no lie whatsoever in his eyes. Napoleon had to smile back. "Yes, sir."

Waverly nodded and rose easily to his feet. "Excellent. Well, some of us do need our sleep. I will see you in the morning."

Napoleon got up to show him out. "Good night, sir."

Waverly paused at the door and looked back at him. "And should you find yourself having trouble with your studies in the future, Mr. Solo, my door is always open. Good night."

He slipped from the room without another word. Napoleon blinked, then saw the book on Farsi lying forgotten on the table. Napoleon stared at it for a second and shook his head. "I might just take you up on that," he said softly.

He had survived. He could remember that. Napoleon shut the door, left the brandy and book where they were, and went back to his bed.

It might take a while, but he would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Waverly's dossier showed he was a member of the SBS, which was founded during WWII. A lot of them were taken prisoner during raids, and my personal headcanon is that Waverly was among them. I'm also taking that as the cause of his addictions, but we'll get to those in future stories.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that.


End file.
